


He Said I Was His Friend

by shessocold



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Pre-Relationship, Time glitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shessocold/pseuds/shessocold
Summary: A glitch in time.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61
Collections: RS Fireside Tales Vol.3





	He Said I Was His Friend

**Author's Note:**

> T20. It’s easier to dismiss ghosts in the daylight. — Patricia Briggs

Sirius’ first reaction, given the trouble he’s gone to in order to carry the whole loot back into the school by himself, is one of irritation. _If I don’t turn in my Potions essay tomorrow I’m getting a T, I’m going to have to work on it all night_ , and yet here he is, Remus bloody Lupin, strolling down the sixth floor corridor without a care in the world while his supposed best mate works himself half to death to secure party provisions.

_Oi, wanker_ , Sirius is about to call out, and then he realizes that he can see right through the slightly stooped back he had mistaken for Remus’. The sharp intake of breath that accompanies this sudden discovery is enough to draw the ghost’s attention, and it turns around. 

It _is_ Remus, after all. But how? _Why_? 

Sirius stares, uncomprehendingly, his mouth dry, at the translucent form of a person he saw alive and well less than an hour before. _I’d know_ , he thinks stupidly. _If Remus were dead, I would know_. 

“Sirius,” croaks the ghost, gliding towards him. It has Remus’ voice. “It’s so good to see you.” 

Sirius stands still, fingers numbing painfully from the weight of the box of beverages he’s holding. The closer the ghost gets, the clearer it becomes that it cannot be the same bloke he left in a pile of books and parchment earlier that evening. 

The hair, for one thing, is completely wrong, much shorter than Remus wears it. The face is thinner, with deep marks around the eyes and a shadowy stubble that Remus couldn’t get if he stopped shaving for a week. The clothes he's wearing are also nothing like their school uniform. 

It’s a man — it _was_ a man, amends Sirius — of about forty, quite handsome in a rumpled way. 

Relief washes over Sirius like a warm wave. 

“Hello there,” he says, half-grinning at the approaching ghost. “How do you know my name?” 

The ghost does not answer the question. 

“Having a party?” he asks instead, eyeing the box in Sirius’ arms with a faint smile. 

“Yeah,” says Sirius, toying for a second with the idea of extending an invite. “Tomorrow night.” 

“Excellent idea,” says the ghost, with an approving nod of his fine pearly-white head. “Mary’s birthday, right? May 3rd.” 

“How do you…” begins Sirius, but the look in the ghost’s eyes makes him trail off. He sets the box on the ground, the tingle of blood rushing back into his sore fingers a welcome respite from the confusing tide of feeling he’s experienced in the last few minutes. “Listen, who _are_ you?” 

“I’m sorry,” says the ghost softly. “I shouldn’t. Goodbye.” 

“Wait,” says Sirius, urgently, but it is in vain. The corridor is empty. 

After a long while — how long, he would rather not admit — once it becomes clear that the ghost is not coming back, Sirius picks his box back up and makes his way to Gryffindor Tower. 

“What took you so long?” enquires Remus, yawning hugely from behind his homework. “I assumed you’d got caught.” 

“You offend me, Lupin,” replies Sirius, heartened by Remus’ cheery bluntness. He sets the box of drinks carefully behind a particularly voluminous armchair. “Are you done with that?” 

“No, but I think I’ve resigned myself to that T,” says Remus, grinning. The sight of him, quite alive and with nothing on his mind other than boring schoolwork, fills Sirius with the kind of simple joy that’s best expressed, in one’s canine form, by enthusiastically wagging one’s tail. 

“You can copy mine tomorrow morning,” he offers instead, resisting the urge to give a Remus a hug that he really wouldn’t know how to justify. “Well, this morning,” he amends, on account of the first rays of grey light filtering in from the windows. “Let’s get some sleep now.”


End file.
